The king is not himself, but basely led
By flatterers; and what they will inform,
Merely in hate, 'gainst any of us all,
That will the king severely prosecute
Gainst us, our lives, our children, and our heirs.
Ross. The commons hath he pill'd with gric-
vous taxes,

And lost their hearts: the nobles hath he fin'd
For ancient quarrels, and quite lost their hearts.
Wil. And daily new exactions are devis'd;
As blanks, benevolences, and I wot not what:
But what, o'God's name, doth become of this?

Nor. Wars have not wasted it, for warr'd he
But basely yielded upon compromise, [hath not,
That which his ancestors achiev'd with blows:
More hath he spent in peace, than they in wars.
Ross. The earl of Wiltshire hath the realm in
farm.
[man.
Wil. The king's grown bankrupt, like a broken
Nor. Reproach, and dissolution, hangeth over

him.

Ross. He hath not money for these Irish wars, His burdenous taxations notwithstanding, But by the robbing of the banish'd duke.

Nor. His noble kinsman: most degenerate king!
But, lords, we hear this fearful tempest sing,
Yet seek no shelter to avoid the storm:
We see the wind sit sore upon our sails,
And yet we strike not, but securely perish.
Ross. We see the very wreck that we must
And unavoided is the danger now, [suffer;
For suffering so the causes of our wreck. [death,
Nor. Not so; even through the hollow eyes of
I spy life peering; but I dare not say
How near the tidings of our comfort is. [ours.
Wil. Nay, let us share thy thoughts, as thou dost
Ross. Be confident to speak, Northumberland:
We three are but thyself; and, speaking so,
Thy words are but as thoughts; therefore, be bold.
Nor. Then thus:-I have from Port le Blanc,
In Britany, received intelligence,
[a bay
That Harry Hereford, Reginald lord Cobham,
(The son of Richard, earl of Arundel),
That late broke from the duke of Exeter,
His brother, archbishop late of Canterbury,
Sir Thomas Erpingham, sir John Ramston,
Sir John Norbery, sir Robert Waterton, and
Francis Quoint,-

All these well furnish'd by the duke of Bretagne,
With eight tall ships, three thousand men of war,
Are making hither with all due expedience,
And shortly mean to touch our northern shore:
Perhaps, they had ore this; but that they stay
The first departing of the king for Ireland.

Imp out our drooping country's broken wing,
Redeem from broking pawn the blemish'd crown,
Wipe off the dust that hides our sceptre's gilt,
And make high majesty look like itself,
Away with me, in post to Ravenspurg:
But, if you faint, as fearing to do so,
Stay and be secret, and myself will go. [that fear.
Ross. To horse, to horse! urge doubts to them
Wil. Hold out my horse, and I will first be
[exeunt,

there.
SCENE II. THE SAME. A ROOM IN THE PALACE.

Enter Queen, Bushy, and Bagot. Bushy. Madam, your majesty is too much sad: You promis'd, when you parted with the king, To lay aside life-harming heaviness, And entertain a cheerful disposition.

[self,

Queen. To please the king, I did; to please myI cannot do it; yet I know no cause Why I should welcome such a guest as grief, Save bidding farewell to so sweet a guest As my sweet Richard; yet, again, methinks, Some unborn sorrow, ripe in fortune's womb, Is coming towards me, and my inward soul With nothing trembles: at something it grieves, More than with parting from my lord the king. Bushy. Each substance of a grief hath twenty

shadows,

Which show like grief itself, but are not so:
For sorrow's eye, glazed with blinding tears,
Divides one thing entire to many objects;
Like pérspectives, which, rightly gaz'd upon,
Show nothing but confusion; ey'd awry,
Distinguish form: so your sweet majesty,
Looking awry upon your lord's departure,
Finds shapes of grief, more than himself, to wail;
Which, look'd on as it is, is nought but shadows
Of what it is not. Then, thrice-gracious queen,
More than your lord's departure weep not; more's
Or if it be, 'tis with false sorrow's eye, [not seen :
Which, for things true, weep things imaginary.
Queen. It may be so; but yet my inward soul
Persuades me, it is otherwise. Howe'er it be,
I cannot but be sad; so heavy sad,
As,-though, in thinking, on no thought I think,-
Makes me with heavy nothing faint and shrink.
Bushy.'Tis nothing but conceit, mygracious lady.
Queen.'Tis nothing less; conceit is still deriv'd
From some fore-father grief; mine is not so;
For nothing hath begot my something grief:
Or something hath the nothing, that I grieve:
'Tis in reversion that I do possess ;
But what it is, that is not yet known; what
I cannot name: 'tis nameless woe, I wot.
Enter Green.
Green. God save your majesty !and well met,
I hope the king is not yet shipp'd for Ireland. [is;
Queen. Why hop'st thou so? 'tis better hope, he
For his designs crave haste, his haste good hope:
Then wherefore dost thou hope, he is not shipp'd?

[gentlemen:

Green. That he, our hope, might have retir'd his And driven into despair an enemy's hope, [power Who strongly hath set footing in this land: The banish'd Bolingbroke repeals himself. And with uplifted arms is safe atriv❜d At Ravenspurg.

worse,

Queen. Now God in heaven forbid! Green. O, madam, 'tis too true: and that is [Percy, The lord Northumberland, his young son Henry The lords of Ross, Beaumond, and Willoughby, With all their powerful friends, are fled to him. Bushy. Why have you not proclaimed NorthumAnd all the rest of the revolting faction [berland, Traitors?

Green. We have: whereon the earl of Worcester Hath broke his staff, resign'd his stewardship, And all the household servants filed with him To Bolingbroke.

[woe,
Queen. So, Green, thou art the midwife to my
And Bolingbroke my sorrow's dismal heir:
Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy;
And I, a gasping new-deliver'd mother,
Have woe to woe, sorrow to sorrow, join'd.
Bushy. Despair not, madam.
Queen. Who shall hinder me?

I will despair, and be at enmity
With cozening hope; he is a flatterer,
A parasite, a keeper-back of death,
Who gently would dissolve the bands of life,
Which false hope lingers in extremity.
Enter York.

Green. Here comes the duke of York.
Queen. With signs of war about his aged neck;
1, full of careful business are his looks!-
Uncle,

For heaven's sake, speak comfortable words.

York. Should I do so, I should belie my thoughts: Comfort's in heaven; and we are on the earth, Where nothing lives but crosses, care, and grief. Your husband he is gone to save far off, Whilst others come to make him lose at home: Here am I left to underprop his land; Who, weak with age, cannot support myself:Now comes the sick hour that his surfeit made; Now shall he try his friends that flatter'd him. Enter a Servant.

Ser. My lord, your son was gone before I came.
York. He was?-Why, so!-go all which way
it will!-

The nobles they are fled, the commons cold,
And will, I fear, revolt on Hereford's side.-
Sirrah,

Get thee to Plashy, to my sister Gloster;
Bid her send me presently a thousand pound :-
Hold, take my ring.

Ser. My lord, I had forgot to tell your lordship:
To-day, as I came by, I called there:-
But I shall grieve you to report the rest.
York. What is it, knave?

Ser. An hour before I came, the duchess died. York. God for his mercy! what a tide of woes Comes rushing on this woeful land at once! I know not what to do:-I would to God (So my untruth had not provok'd him to it), The king had cut off my head with my brother's,What, are there posts despatch'd. for Ireland ?How shall we do for money for these wars?Come, sister, cousin, I would say: pray, pardon me.

Go, fellow [to the Servant], get thee home, provide some carts,

And bring away the armour that is there.

[exit Servant.
Gentlemen, will you go muster meu? if I know
How, or which way, to order these affairs,
Thus thrust disorderly into my hands,
Never believe me. Both are my kinsmen ;—
The one's my sovereign, whom both my oath
And duty bids defend; the other again
Is my kinsman, whom the king hath wrong'd;
Whom conscience and my kindred bids to right.
Well, somewhat we must do.-Come, cousin, I'll
Dispose of you: go, muster up your men,
And meet me presently at Berkley-castle.
I should to Plashy too;-

But time will not permit :-All is uneven,
And every thing is left at six and seven.
[exeunt York and Queen.
Bushy. The wind sits fair for news to go to Ire
But none returns. For us to levy power, [land,
Proportionable to the enemy,
Is all impossible.

Green. Besides, our nearness to the king in love, Is near the hate of those love not the king.

Bag. And that's the wavering commons: for

their love

Lies in their purses; and whoso empties them, By so much fills their hearts with deadly hate. Bushy. Wherein the king stands generally con

demn'd.

Bag. If judgment lie in them, then so do we, Because we ever have been near the king.

Green. Well, I'll for refuge straight to Bristol The earl of Wiltshire is already there. [castle;

Bushy. Thither will I with you: for little office The hateful commons will perform for us; Except like curs, to tear us all in pieces.Will you go along with us?

Bag. No; I'll to Ireland to his majesty. Farewell: if heart's presages be not vain, We three here part, that ne'er shall meet again. Bushy. That's as York thrives to beat back Bolingbroke.

Green. Alas, poor duke! the task he undertakes Is-numb'ring sands, and drinking oceans dry; Where one on his side fights, thousands will fly. Bushy. Farewell at once; for once, for all, and Green. Well, we may meet again. Bag. I fear me, never.

[ever. [exeunt.

SCENE III. THE WILDS IN GLOSTERSHIRE.

Enter Bolingbroke and Northumberland, with Forces.

Bol. How far is it, my lord, to Berkley now?
Nor. Believe me, noble lord,

I am a stranger here in Glostershire.
These high wild hills, and rough uneven ways,
Draw out our miles, and make them wearisome:
And yet your fair discourse hath been as sugar,
Making the hard way sweet and délectable.
But, I bethink me, what a weary way
From Ravenspurg to Cotswold, will be found
In Ross and Willoughby, wanting your company;
Which, I protest, hath very much beguil'd
The tediousness and process of my travel:
But theirs is sweeten'd with the hope to have
The present benefit which I possess:
And hope to joy, is little less in joy,

Then hope enjoy'd: by this the weary lords [done
Stall make their way seem short; as mine hath
By sight of what I have, your noble company.
Bol. Of much less value is my company,
Than your good words. But who comes here?
Enter Harry Percy.

Nor. It is my son, young Harry Percy,
Sent from my brother Worcester, whencesoever.—
Harry, how fares your uncle? [health of you.
Per. I had thought, my lord, to have learn'd his
Nor. Why, is he not with the queen?
Per. No, my good lord; he hath forsook the
Broken his staff of office, and dispera'd
The household of the king.

[court, [gether.

Nor. What was his reason? He was not so resolv'd, when last we spake toPer. Because your lordship was proclaimed traiBut he, my lord, is gone to Ravenspurg, [tor. To offer service to the duke of Hereford; And sent me o'er by Berkley, to discover What power the duke of York had levied there; Then with direction to repair to Ravenspurg. [boy? Nor. Have you forgot the duke of Hereford, Per. No, my good lord; for that is not forgot, Which ne'er I did remember: to my knowledge, I never in my life did look on him.

[duke. Nor. Then learn to know him now; this is the Per. My gracious lord, I tender you my service, Such as it is, being tender, raw, and young; Which elder days shɗll ripen, and confirm To more approved service and desert.

[it.

Bol. I thank thee, gentle Percy; and be sure, I count myself in nothing else so happy, As in a soul rememb'ring my good friends; And, as my fortune ripens with thy love, It shall be still thy true love's recompense: My heart this covenant makes, my hand thus seals Nor. How far is it to Berkley? And what stir Keeps good old York there, with his men of war? Per. There stands the castle, by yon tuft of trees, Manu'd with three hundred men, as I have heard: And in it are the lords of York, Berkley, and Sey- | None else of name, and noble estimate. [mour; Enter Ross and Willoughby.

Nor. Here come the lords of Ross and WilloughBloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste. [by, Bol. Welcome, my lords: I wot, your love purA banish'd traitor; all my treasury [sues Is yet but unfelt thanks, which, more enrich'd, Shall be your love and labour's recompense. [lord. Ross. Your presence makes us rich, most noble ·Wil. And far surmounts our labour to attain it. Bol. Evermore thanks, the exchequer of the

Nor. It is my lord of Berkley, as I guess. [you. Berk. My lord of Hereford, my message is to Bol. My lord, my answer is to Lancaster; And I am come to seek that name in England: And I must find that title in your tongue, Before I inake reply to aught you say. [meaning, Berk. Mistake me not, my lord: 'tis not my To raze one title of your honour out:To you, my lord, I come (what lord you will),

From the most glorious regent of this land,
The duke of York: to know, what pricks you on
To take advantage of the absent time,
And fright our native peace with self-born arms.
Enter York, attended.

Bol. I shall not need transport my words by you; Here comes his grace in person.My noble uncle! [kneels.

York. Show me thy humble heart, and not thy
Whose duty is deceiveable and false. [knee,
Bol. My gracious uncle !—
York. Tut, tut!

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle:
I am no traitor's uncle; and that word-grace,
In an ungracious mouth, is but profane.
Why have those banish'd aud forbidden legs
Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But then more why; -why have they dar'd to
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom; [march
Frighting her pale-fac'd villages with war,
And ostentation of despis'd arms?
Com'st thou, because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lies his power.
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth,
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself,
Rescu'd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
O, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,
And minister correction to thy fault!

Bol. My gracious uncle, let me know my fault; On what condition stands it, and wherein?

York. Even in condition of the worst degree,In gross rebellion, and detested treason? Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come, Before the expiration of thy time, In braving arms against thy sovereign.

Bol. As I was banish'd, I was banish'd Hereford;
But as I come, I come for Lancaster.
And, noble uncle, I beseech your grace,
Look on my wrongs with an indifferent eye:
You are my father, for, methinks, in you
I see old Gaunt alive; O then, my father!
Will you permit that I shall stand condemn'd
A wand'ring vagabond; my rights and royalties
Pluck'd from my arms perforce, and given away
To upstart unthrifts? Wherefore was I born?
If that my cousin king be king of England,
It must be granted I am duke of Lancaster.
You have a son, Aumerle, my noble kinsman;
Had you first died, and he been thus trod down,
He should have found his uncle Gaunt a father,
To rouse his wrongs, and chase them to the bay.
I am denied to sue my livery here,

And yet my letters patent give me leave:
My father's goods are all distrain'd, and sold;
And these, and all, are all amiss employ'd.
What would you have me do? I am a subject,
And challenge law: Attornies are denied me;
And therefore personally I lay my claim
To my inheritance of free descent.

Nor. The noble duke hath been too much abus'd.
Ross. It stands your grace upon, to do him right.
Wil. Base men by his endowments are made

great.

As a long parted mother with her child
Plays fondly with her tears, and smiles in meeting;
So, weeping, smiling, greet I thee, my earth,
And do thee favour with my royal hands.
Feed not thy sovereign's foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his rav'nous sense:
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads, lie in their way;
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet,
Which with usurping steps do trample thee.
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies:
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder,
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign's enemies.—-~
Mock not my senseless conjuration, lords;
This earth shall have a feeling, and these stones
Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king
Shall falter under foul rebellious arms.

you king,

Hath power to keep you king, in spite of all.
The means that heaven yields must be embrac'd,
And not neglected; else, if heaven would,
And we will not, heaven's offer we refuse;
The proffer'd means of succour and redress.
Aum. He means, my lord, that we are too remiss;
Whilst Bolingbroke, through our security,
rows strong and great, in substance, and in friends.
K. Rich. Discomfortable cousin! know'st thou
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid [not,
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world,
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen,
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here;
But when, from under this terrestrial ball,
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines,
And darts his light through every guilty hole,
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, [backs,
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves?
So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke,----
Who all this while bath revell'd in the night,
Whilst we were wand'ring with the antipodes,
Shall see us rising in our throne the east,
His treasons will sit blushing in his face,
Not able to endure the sight of day;
But, self-affrighted, tremble at his sin.
Not all the water in the rough-rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king:
The breath of worldly men cannot depose
The deputy elected by the Lord:

For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd
To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown,
God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay
A glorious angel: then, if angels fight, [right.
Weak men must fall; for heaven still guards the
Enter Salisbury.

Welcome, my lord; How far off lies your power?
Sal. Nor near, nor further off, my gracious lord,
Than this weak arm: Discomfort guides my
And bids me speak of nothing but despair. [tongue,
One day too late, I fear, my noble lord,
Hath clouded all thy happy days on earth:
O, call back yesterday, bid time return,
And thou shalt have twelve thousand fighting men!
To-day, to-day, unhappy day, too late

Enter Scroop.

Scr. More health and happiness betide my liege, Than can my care-tun'd tongue deliver him.

K. Rich. Mine ear is open, and my heart pre-
The worst is worldly loss, thou canst unfold. [par'd;
Say, is my kingdom lost? why, 'twas my care;
And what loss is it, to be rid of care;
Strives Bolingbroke to be as great as we?
Greater he shall not be; if he serve God,
We'll serve him too, and be his fellow so:
Revolt our subjects? that we cannot mend;
They break their faith to God, as well as us
Cry, woe, destruction, ruin, loss, decay,;
The worst is death, and death will have his day
Scr. Glad am I, that your highness is so arm'd,
To bear the tidings of calamity.
Like an unseasonable stormy day,
Which makes the silver rivers drown their shores,
As if the world were all dissolv'd to tears:
So high above his limits swells the rage
Of Bolingbroke, covering your fearful land
With hard bright steel, and hearts harder than
steel.
[scalps
White-beards have arm'd their thin and hairless
Against thy majesty; boys, with women's voices,
Strive to speak big, and clap their female joints
In stiff unwieldy arms against thy crown:
Tby very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state;
Yea, distaff-women manage rusty bills
Against thy seat; both young and old rebel,
And all goes worse than I have power to tell.
K. Rich. Too well, too well, thou tell'st a tale
so ill

Where is the earl of Wiltshire? where is Bagot?
What is become of Bushy? where is Green?
That they have let the dangerous enemy
Measure our confines with such peaceful steps?
If we prevail, their heads shall pay for it.

I warrant, they have made peace with Bolingbroke Scr. Peace have they made with him, indeed my lord!

[redemption K. Rich. O villains, vipers, damn'd withon | Dogs easily won to fawn on any man! [heart! Snakes, in my heart-blood warn'd, that sting my